


Slam

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Lapdance, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A simple birthday treat.
Relationships: Regis Lucis Caelum/Clarus Amicitia/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	Slam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistressOfLions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfLions/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The steps feel familiar, and if Regis were paying attention from the start, perhaps he’d know where he’s headed now, but he lost the trail several turns ago. He’s distracted by Clarus’ firm grip under his elbow, the other arm around his back, Clarus’ warmth tight against his side. He can practically feel Clarus’ breath on his cheek. If anyone sees, they’ll think it only a rough day—one of those times where Regis’ poor leg is acting up and his closest advisor must help him about. In truth, he’s feeling _exhilarated_ , sure that whatever’s on the other side of this journey is something that he’ll love.

He has a sneaking suspicion that they’re not going anywhere special, that this is only _foreplay_. That’s fine by him. He’s not a young man anymore, happy to sneak out in the middle of the night and celebrate his birthday in a slew of forbidden clubs. The nation didn’t stop just for him—he still had a long day of inspections, council meetings, private interviews, and now he really would like to _rest_. With Clarus by his side. The blindfold is unnecessary but tantalizing—there’s something about surrendering control and relying purely on his shield to guide him that makes Regis’ heart beat twice as fast. 

He’s stopped outside a door, hears it open, and then he’s gently pulled through. He follows through a maze of cushy floors and instantly knows that he’s in his own private chambers—the only part of the Citadel that’s not exclusively polished tile. He can tell from the flow of rooms that he’s being taken to the bedroom, and then he’s told, “Sit,” and Regis does so, perched on his own mattress. 

As Clarus looms over him, rich cologne flooding his senses, calloused fingers weaving through his hair, he mutters, “This had better not be a surprise party, Clarus. You know I’m much too old for this.”

Clarus chuckles at the jest and brushes his lips over Regis’—Regis tilts to chase the kiss, but it’s gone in an instant. The blindfold is deftly untied and tumbles down his shoulders; he blinks against the dim light of his bedroom, glowing yellow-orange with his bedside lamp. 

Clarus moves away from him, drifting over to the stereo set still lingering from decades past, and Regis’ gaze instantly goes to the man standing next to it. 

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his strong chest, Nyx Ulric cocks a welcoming grin. There’s nothing different about him—he’s wearing the same uniform he was when he first sauntered into Regis’ life and tempted him to cross that line. He never would’ve if Clarus hadn’t helped him through it. He knows they’re both batting out of their leagues, but the handsome glaive looks happy to be standing across from his king’s bed. Clarus taps a button on the stereo, and music blears—a mindless, droning beat that Nyx instantly starts moving to. 

“Nothing special, as I promised,” Clarus casually tells him, as though Nyx’s gyrating body isn’t _exceptional._ It’s true there are no streamers, no confetti, no silly hats or banners or others cliché trim, but this is more Regis’ style, all he _really_ wants: two gorgeous men moving steadily closer to his arms. 

In his peripherals, he sees Clarus circle around to join him on the mattress, but it’s hard to look anywhere but Nyx when he’s moving as he is. He’s not exactly _dancing_ , not yet, just swinging his hips to the brutal beat, arching fully into ever movement, stretching his dark clothes taut in all the right places. Then his talented fingers rise to his throat, and he starts undoing the buttons of his jacket one by one. 

Regis swallows. “ _Ah._ ” It’s _that_ kind of present. 

Clarus’ hand lands on his knee, squeezing lightly. Flush against his side, Clarus murmurs, “Relax, Your Majesty. You deserve this.”

Regis has never done anything in his life to deserve such a blessing. The way Nyx strips out of his jacket is absolutely sinful—he peels back the lapels painfully slow, dragging it down his massive biceps, skin finally showing on his bare arms. The shirt below is also official, another mark that this man belongs to _Regis_ , in every way imaginable. When the jacket’s dropped to the floor, he meanders closer, and Regis’ eyes go a little wider with every step. 

Then Nyx’s hand is on Regis’ shoulder, the other threaded through his own shaved hair, trailing down his face and body and rubbing across his breast—Regis watches, mesmerized, hyper aware of every thrust of Nyx’s hips. He matches the beat perfectly, as though he’s done this before, practiced, _trained_. One knee hikes onto the bed, and then Nyx is lifting up and dropping down, right in Regis’ lap.

Regis has never felt so incredibly _lucky_. His hands instantly fly to Nyx’s sides, holding on by instinct, even though Nyx seems to have no trouble balancing. His thighs squeeze tight to Regis’, his torso going through a full wave, hands trailing down Regis’ own heavily-clothed chest and over to Nyx’s lap. 

For a second, Regis thinks those black faux-leather pants are going to pop open, and the lapdance pretense is going to fall away, but then Nyx’s fingers dance up to the hem of his shirt. Regis lets go long enough to let him lift it, slow and steady, until he’s stretching it over his head and tossing it aside. Clenching hard to Regis’ lap, Nyx even leans back, allowing Regis the perfect view of his gloriously chiseled chest, every hard line and muscle. Nyx is built like a god out of legend. His pink-brown nipples are already slightly pebbled in the cool air of Regis’ chambers, but the room feels like it’s heating up fast. Nyx’s hips keep moving, grinding down into the growing bulge at Regis’ crotch with each crescendo of music. 

“Beautiful, isn’t he,” Clarus murmurs in his ear, like it’s not already obvious. Regis can do nothing but numbly nod. Nyx allows a humble smile but still says nothing, intent on his task. His eyes are _burning_. He wears Regis’ clothes and serves Regis’ hunger, but the lust in his gaze suggests he’s also serving his own interest. He looks like he wants to devour Regis _whole_.

Regis is ridiculously hard already. He’s too old for that. He normally takes much longer to coax, but he’s not normally facing a shirtless lapdance from the most gorgeous glaive in his whole army. It doesn’t help that Clarus is rubbing circles along the small of his back and hovering close enough to kiss. 

Nyx’s clothed cock—an _enormous_ bulge that has Regis’ lashes fluttering—drags hard against his own restrained dick. He has a feeling he’s going to come in his pants for the first time in a decade. But Clarus presses a hand against Nyx’s sun-kissed chest and orders, “Stop, there.”

Nyx obediently slows to a halt. Regis groans in protest, but he understands the roadblock—he won’t last much longer at this rate. Clarus leans in to nip the shell of his ear and hiss into it, “Which hole do you want, love?” His hand reaches out to cup Nyx’s cheek, and Nyx obediently turns into it, nuzzling Clarus’ palm and letting Clarus’ thumb push between his lips. Clarus presses down his tongue and guides his mouth open, until his jaw’s stretched all the way, and Regis can see right to the back of his throat. Clarus pistons his thumb in and out while Regis soaks it in. Nyx quivers lightly but doesn’t choke, even when Clarus adds his index finger, then the middle one, probing around Nyx’s wet insides. Nyx’s pupils were already dilated, but his lids lower under the treatment, cheeks staining pinker, _prettier_. He’s intoxicating. Then Clarus’ hand slithers out of his mouth, leaving a wet trail of spit along his cheek. Clarus runs all the way to the back, making a show of squeezing Nyx’s ass, and Nyx bucks into it, moaning. Palming and caressing the plump curve of Nyx’s rear, Clarus promises, “He’s nice and ready for us, any time you like...”

“Preferably soon,” Nyx practically growls, before biting his lip and shutting up again. Regis understands the impatience and smiles at the outburst. He can feel just how hard Nyx is too, and that in itself is thrilling—he’s amazed he can make such a virile young man so turned on. 

But it’s hard to pick one place to relieve himself. He knows from experience how good both those holes are. Ultimately, it’s watching Nyx react to Clarus palming his ass that makes up Regis’ mind. He slots his own hand between Nyx’s legs, cupping the sizeable package there. Holding Nyx’s steady gaze, he says, “I’ll take your rear.”

Nyx croons, “It’s all yours, Your Majesty.” Regis’ lips twitch. He’d tell them to dispense with the title, but he knows Nyx gets a secret rush out of it, and anything that turns Nyx on is welcome in his books. He should probably let Nyx do the rest, because Nyx clearly knows what he’s doing, but Regis can’t resist tugging down his zipper and slipping one hand beneath the boxers underneath, wrist grazing the coarse hair above his cock—the thick shaft below springs out as soon as it can, fully engorged. Regis squeezes it tight enough to make Nyx hiss and wants to tug Nyx closer by it, wants to bring him in for a fervent kiss, but Nyx has started moving again. He eagerly bucks into Regis’ hand but turns it into a smooth, rhythmic wave, once again finding the beat and continuing the lapdance, even with his cock at his king’s mercy. When Regis finally wills himself to let go, Nyx lifts up and starts dragging those stretched-tight pants down his thighs.

Regis’ mouth is watering. Nyx doesn’t get a chance to remove the pants completely. They hit his knees, pulled over Regis’ lap, and then Clarus’ fist is suddenly in his hair and he’s being dragged between them, further onto the mattress, deposited on all fours. Regis starts moving too, not waiting for Nyx to acclimate—but that’s one of Nyx’s best features; he doesn’t _need_ adjustment time. He’s an incredibly strong specimen and can handle anything his powerful lovers throw at him. He submissively waits where he’s put, head hung and thighs spread as much as his pants allow. His giant cock hangs down, arching up, a little damp at the tip. There are faint dots of perspiration along his shoulder blades from his constant dancing, and Regis can’t wait to lick it off. He climbs up behind Nyx without bothering to remove any of his own clothes.

All he has to do is part his pants enough to free himself, and then he’s prying Nyx’s round cheeks open, revealing the pink crease between and his furrowed hole, slick around the edges. Regis can see the lubrication dribbling down to the back of his balls. His asshole flutters open, clenching again, practically trembling with visible anticipation. Regis couldn’t ask for a better present.

Clarus hums, “What are you waiting for?” and Regis really doesn’t know. He’s subconsciously stroking himself, dry, and longs to be in the tight, wet heat of Nyx’s ass. He presses forward, guiding himself down Nyx’s crack, tracing up and down it once just to enjoy his plush cheeks. Then Regis pushes against Nyx’s puckered hole and stares at the ridiculously hot view of his own girth stretching Nyx wide open. He shoves himself into Nyx bit by bit, groaning at the amazing, velvety softness that instantly clamps around him, but keeps going, _needs it_ —Nyx even groans and presses back against him. Nyx did an excellent job preparing himself, or maybe Clarus did it—there’s no resistance, only wondrous suction. Regis gets all the way to the base before he has to stop, draping over Nyx’s arched back and just trying to steady himself. It’s so _good_. Too good. His head’s swimming. Nyx subserviently waits for more, his ass idly flexing around his king’s cock. 

Then Regis slowly withdraws and slams back in, balls slapping Nyx’s ass, pitching Nyx forward—Nyx makes a choking noise and pushes back to all fours, straightening out, and Regis reels. The music’s still going, and the next drum drives him—he takes Nyx again, again, gradually working up to that heady rhythm, and that guidance makes it easy for Nyx to meet him. The tribal club beat is ruthless, so Regis is too, but Nyx can take it, always does—they can fuck Nyx to his very limit, and Regis knows that he’ll just beg for _more_. Regis gives more. Harder. He fucks Nyx mercilessly, his old fervour coming back, energy like he’s on the battlefield, except it’s all channeling into this one victim, and he’s digging red finger marks into Nyx’s hips and slapping his thighs so hard they’re turning pink and—

“Do you mind if I join?” Clarus asks, hand running down Nyx’s curved spine. He’s started sweating properly, forced to under Regis’ rough treatment, and that just makes it better. The musk of that mingles well with the stench of raw _sex_. Clarus’ question is polite, as though he really will leave if Regis commands it, but Nyx has too good a mouth to leave unused. Regis nods towards Nyx’s hung head, indicating his _please do._ Clarus bows his head in thanks and moves around to Nyx’s front, shuffling right up between Nyx’s arms, grabbing Nyx’s head, then shoving it down into his lap. Regis can’t see Nyx’s lips spreading wide around Clarus’ cock, but he can easily picture it, and watching the back of Nyx’s head bob up and down is just as satisfying. Clarus doesn’t let up either—he takes Nyx to the same pace, hips bucking up to meet him. Nyx splutters, wet choking noises everywhere, and the reverberations snake all the way down to his ass and Regis’ cock, but he doesn’t even try to pull away. Never would. Clarus groans as he pets through Nyx’s hair and mutters, “Good boy...”

He’s _such_ a good boy. But Clarus is the one that Regis leans over to kiss, because he knows Clarus organized this, remembered Regis’ birthday even though Regis never reminds anyone, and probably even had Nyx go take lessons or something for that amazing lapdance. Regis only hopes he gets to hear about those lessons later. He meets Clarus in the middle of Nyx’s back for a wet, sloppy kiss, jostled by them both pounding into their shared boytoy below. Clarus breathes against his mouth, “Thank you for sharing your present, Your Majesty. You’re most generous.”

Regis is losing breath fast, but pants, “I thought... you both were my present...” Clarus chuckles. Nyx makes a muffled noise, but it’s hard to tell what he means by it—he’s still stuffed full of two cocks and has no room to talk. Regis wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Regis is painfully close again and thinks he’ll be the first to fall, but doesn’t want to be; he might be old, but he still has his stamina, his pride, and he needs to continue being a generous lover. He barely has the wherewithal to do anything about it, but he makes himself fumble under Regis’ stomach, fingers finding Nyx’s cock. It’s already slick with sweat and precum, which Regis gathers up to slather it properly, making it easy for him to stroke Nyx in time with his thrusts. Nyx shudders in thanks but can’t seem to manage rocking into Regis’ fist, probably because he’s already pinned in place, firmly skewered between two older men. Regis manages for him, faithfully pumping him until he’s releasing a muffled scream around Clarus’ dick and coming all over Regis’ hand. 

It’s invigorating to make Nyx come first. To be fair, Nyx has it from all ends—his cock, his prostate, even his throat, but Regis still takes pride in the orgasm. He strokes Nyx through it, loving the way that Nyx’s whole body trembles, hole fluttering wildly around Regis’ cock. Clarus groans appreciatively, petting Nyx faster. Regis pumps every last drop out onto the duvet and keeps going. He can feel Nyx slumping under him but still trying to stay up, no longer taut but so well-behaved that he won’t let himself collapse. There’s something uniquely exciting about pounding into his pliant figure afterwards, knowing he’s already spent, using up his already-used body. He hears Clarus grunt and thinks Clarus might be coming down Nyx’s throat, the image of which is the last push that Regis needs—he grits his teeth and spills himself in Nyx’s impossibly-tight channel. He fucks Nyx even harder during that, burying every last drop as deep inside Nyx’s body as he can go. 

He keeps fucking Nyx for a little bit after, simply going on auto-pilot. And then it all dies out, and Regis is slowing to an abrupt halt, suddenly aware of just how hot he is under all his clothes. He’s tired, exhausted, so _satisfied_. He and Clarus stay inside Nyx anyway, and Nyx doesn’t complain. 

Clarus is the first to pull out. Nyx splutters, collapsing down onto one elbow, but Clarus ignores him in favour of shuffling around to Regis. He rubs Regis’ back and kisses him, thorough and deep. Regis returns it as best he can while his body’s still twisted away. Eventually, he knows he has to leave the paradise that is Nyx’s rear end, and he begrudgingly withdraws, dragging leftover lube and royal seed with him. The remains drizzle down Nyx’s thick thighs, somehow making the view of his squelching hole even more enticing. 

There’s a long, languid moment that Regis just spends on Clarus, having fucked the living daylight out of one lover and needing the other to know they’re adored too. Clarus gives as good as he gets, pulling Regis fully into his arms, and Regis gets so engrossed in that that he doesn’t notice Nyx climbing off the bed until he sees Nyx pulling up his pants in the corner of his eye. 

He parts from Clarus long enough to ask, “Stay.”

Nyx pauses, glancing between them. He’s flushed from head to toe, so it’s hard to tell, but Regis thinks he’s blushing. He often averts his eyes afterwards, professing his honour and gratitude before slipping away—he still thinks he’s not _worthy_ of his king’s bed and is constantly careful not to come between king and shield. But Regis and Clarus’ relationship is far stronger than that. Nyx mutters, “I don’t want to presume...”

Clarus grunts, “As though you could even walk back to your dorm after his majesty fucked you so hard.” Nyx definitely flushes redder, a grin tugging at his lips. There’s a fleck of white on the corner of them that Regis would love to kiss away.

Instead, he simply says, “I want you to stay.” Nyx’s gaze flickers up, burning again. Regis wills this to be the time that their little arrangement goes from two plus one to a permanent _three_.

Clarus points out, “It is his majesty’s birthday.”

Nyx’s expression cracks. He’s clearly biting the inside of his cheek to keep his smile in check. He finally nods and concedes, coming closer, climbing back onto the bed, moving back into Regis’ open arms. He murmurs, “Happy birthday, Your Majesty,” and goes in for a loving kiss that makes it the best birthday ever.


End file.
